The Dark Cycle 1: Master of Beasts
by Argonaut57
Summary: Portland, Oregon, is experiencing more weirdness than usual. Nick Burkhardt, detective and Grimm, suspects wesen activity at first, but soon realises there's more to it than that. A call to a particular friend in England leads to the arrival of specialist help -the demon-hunter called Dante.
1. Chapter 1

**The Dark Cycle 1: Master of Beasts**

**Chapter One**

"This is Nikki Porter for WKRP-TV in Portland. I'm standing outside the City Courthouse where a jury has just unanimously found Elmore Carter guilty of seven counts of aggravated rape.

"Viewers will recall that Carter's activities sparked near panic and a massive police manhunt in Portland last year. His reign of terror lasted a little over three weeks before his arrest. The trial has been a complex one, with the defense questioning all the forensic evidence, fiercely cross-examining prosecution witnesses and finally attempting to plead mental incapacity on the part of the accused.

"One moment! There. Just emerging from the courthouse is the arresting officer and chief prosecution witness, Detective Nick Burkhardt of the Portland PD. I'm going to see if I can speak with...wait!

"A woman is approaching Detective Burkhardt. It's the mother of Elmore Carter, she's...Oh my god! She's attacking him! He's right on the top of the steps and...He's fallen! Geez, what a tumble! All the way down the steps. They're arresting the old lady. Somebody's looking after the detective...

"I'm Nikki Porter for WKRP-TV in Portland. More on this story as we get it. Now, back to the studio.

"Tell me you got all that!"

Nick switched off the TV with a savage stab of his thumb and tossed the remote onto the armchair opposite.

"Ah!" Juliette said from the kitchen door. "Anger management! Last time you tried to throw the remote through the screen!"

"There's the Middle East," Nick growled, "the economy, local elections, the goddamn weather to report. So how come every news broadcast for the last week has had that on it! Every time I turn the thing on I see myself getting knocked down those steps!"

Juliette came up behind him, slipped her arms round his neck and nuzzled close. "Well, you know, it isn't every day a big, husky member of Portlands' finest gets taken down by a little old lady."

Nick chuckled wryly. "I guess I was lucky at that. Hank told me they found a horseshoe in her purse, right next to the Bible!"

"Well," Juliette comforted him, "you'll be back at work tomorrow."

"Work!" Nick snorted. "Light duty only. Chained to my desk until this ankle heals. Well, at least Grimms heal quick."

"True." Juliette agreed. "And that herbal tea of Rosalees' isn't hurting, either. Or the ointment."

"I've been meaning to talk about that." Nick remarked. "You sure you have them the right way round? Because the ointment smells good enough to eat, but the tea tastes like it should be applied externally!"

"I'll be sure and check with Rosalee." She told him. "But she'll just put it down to GPS."

"GPS?" Nick asked.

"Grouchy Patient Syndrome." Juliette replied with a grin. "Now, how about I serve dinner and we can watch a DVD?"

Officially, Nick should have been on crutches. In practice, he managed with a cane he'd found in the trailer. The cane had a sword inside it, but that was sort of cool, he thought.

Wus' greeting was characteristic. "Hi, there. We've transferred you off the Crazy Old Lady Squad to something a little safer."

"Gee, thanks!" Nick replied, then noticed the cardboard box on his desk. "What's this?"

Hank grinned up at him. "It seems Mrs Carter belonged to a Church Ladies' Group. They kicked her out after what she did, and to say sorry they sent you a card and a cake."

Nick opened the box. "Half a cake." He observed.

"Well, we had to check it wasn't a bomb." Wu told him.

"Then we thought we'd better test it to make sure it wasn't poisoned or anything." Hank added. "And we needed more than one test subject, just to be sure."

"How many?" Nick asked.

"Well, Wu checked it first of course, it's his job. Then I had to check it, as your partner. Then Monroe stopped by, and thought he'd better test it, as a friend. Then Captain Renard, as your senior officer, figured it was his duty to take part as well."

Hanks' look and tone of deep sincerity and concern was enough to make Nick crack up with his first real laughter for a week. To be fair, he hadn't exactly gone short of goodies during his enforced leave. His _eisbiber_ friend, Bud, had called round twice, both times bearing groaning baskets of his wifes' superb pastries. Then one evening Monroe and Rosalee had turned up with a casserole and three bottles of excellent wine. Monroe was a gourmet cook and a connoisseur, so the meal had been delicious, but more importantly, the big _blutbad _and his _fuchsbau_ girlfriend were easy, undemanding company.

There was a little more banter and catching up to do, then Captain Renard came over.

"Welcome back, Nick." He said. "I know you don't like being stuck at your desk, but if I have to make you wait a little longer to have you in top shape, that's what I'm going to do.

"Anyway, I do have a job for you. It's not much in itself, but the guy bringing the complaint is a big-shot in his community and a councilman, so if I let him talk to a senior detective, he'll know I'm taking him seriously. Just hear him out and if you can help him, do it."

Clayton Moreland was a big, rangy man in his fifties, clearly a former athlete. Good living had thickened his waist a little, but hadn't taken away the power in his wide shoulders and big hands, or dimmed the thousand-yard stare he bent on Nick.

"I heard of you." He remarked, after Nick had introduced himself. "You're the guy who got Carter, right? Heck of a job, there!"

"Thanks." Nick said. "But what can I do for you, Mr Moreland?"

"Well, it's like this, Detective," Moreland began, "I head up my local Neighborhood Watch. Now it's a good area, and we don't get a lot of trouble. Mostly college and high-school kids having too much beer and racing cars or just getting noisy. We talk to them and it's usually OK. Maybe a word to their folks, but kids, well, they're gonna be kids, right? We all did it, back in the day.

"But lately, something else has been happening. It started with pet cats going missing. Nothing odd about that, it's what cats do. They wander off, get hit by a car, find a new home or just go feral. We got woods fairly close, and some of 'em might go in there and tangle with bobcats or something else bigger and meaner than them. We didn't think anything of it.

"Then, it started to happen with dogs. Now you know, Detective, that dogs don't just disappear the way cats do. It started in the woods. There's a couple paths people use to walk their dogs, and they slip them off the leash to go run around. No poop-scoop laws out there! Well, it always happened the same way. Somebody'd let their dog off the leash, dog goes running off, then it'd start up a racket like it's found something, then go quiet. People would call it, then go looking, and not find it. So, next day – it always happened in the evening, never the morning – we'd get a crowd together and go looking, and find the dog! They'd always be a ways off the path, and they'd been torn up, ripped to shreds.

"That happened maybe three-four times before people stopped taking their dogs into the woods. They walk 'em where there's street lights now, and if they poop, they scoop. Better than losing your pet, right?

"But people were upset, so we called the cops. The cops looked at a couple of the dead dogs, said it was an animal and called in Animal Control. Animal Control said it was a wild animal in the woods and to tell the Rangers. The Rangers said it wasn't anything that lived in these woods, must be an escaped exotic, and to talk to Animal Control!

"Me and some of the guys walked the paths at night with rifles and shotguns for a week, but nothing.

"Then last night I get a call from old Mrs Husting. Seems she let her dog out to run around the garden last thing, like always. Then she hears it bark, then there's a heck of a commotion. She's real scared, but looks out the window after the noise dies down. Swears she sees a guy jump her back fence. She opens the door and calls the dog, nothing happens. So she locks herself in the house and calls me. I get a couple people and my wife and go over. My wife looks after Mrs Husting and we check the garden. We found the dog, what was left of it, on the lawn. I covered it with a tarp from my Jeep, and we got Mrs Husting to spend the night with us – she's there still.

"I came right over this morning, and I'm not about to put up with any more bureaucracy. I want some action, Detective!"

Nick was beginning to see why Renard had asked him to speak to this man. By the sound of things, there might very well be some kind of _wesen_ involvement.

"What kind of dog was it?" He asked.

"I know what you're thinking." Moreland said. "This wasn't no ladies' lapdog. This was a four-year-old Pyrenean Mountain Dog, big white brute, very protective. Not an easy take-down. The other dogs were the same, a German Shepherd, a Rottweiler, and a pit-bull, I recall."

"And did you check the zoos, or any exotic pet license holders?" Nick enquired. "Only about five years ago one of these big lizards – Komodo Dragon – got loose from a collector and caused some trouble for a couple days. Animal Control had to shoot it."

"I asked around." Moreland told him. "Made a couple calls. There's nothing around here at the moment except at the Zoo, and they've had no escapes."

"And you say Mrs Husting saw a man jump her fence?" Nick wanted to be clear on this.

Moreland shrugged. "That part I don't take much stock in." He allowed. "Mrs Hustings' eyesight is poor, she was scared, and that fence is eight feet high. She had it built up when she got Snowy – the dog – 'cause a dog like that can jump a six-foot fence like it was nothing. But, heck, I was an athlete when I was young, but even at my best I couldn't hurdle eight feet like she says she saw!

"I'm not saying something didn't go over that fence, but I don't think it was a person."

"It might have been." Nick noted. "There's people do that parkour thing -free running, some of them call it – who could go over it easily.

"I'll tell you what I'm going to do, Mr Moreland. I'm going to make a call to a friend of mine who's a veterinary surgeon, and I'm going to ask her to go out to Mrs Hustings' house with her assistant and take a look at the dogs' remains. What she doesn't know about animals isn't worth knowing. Depending on what she says, I'll know what I need to do, OK?"

Morelands' face split in a wide grin. "You'll do that? Thanks, Detective, I mean that!"

"Don't thank me yet!" Nick warned him. "It could still turn out to be nothing I can help with."

"Yeah, I know." Moreland assured him. "I'm saying thanks for taking the time and taking me seriously. Whatever else, I won't forget that!"

He gave Nick the address, shook hands firmly, and left. Renard must have been watching, because he came over straight away.

"He looked pleased, anyway." He said to Nick. "What do you think?"

"Same as you obviously did." Nick replied quietly. "Could be _wesen_. Look, I'm going to ask Juliette to take Monroe and look at the scene and the dog. If it was some kind of big predator, she'll be able to tell, and if its' something else, Monroe might know, or he might pick up a scent."

"You sure she'll be OK?" Renard asked carefully.

Nick nodded. "She's pretty much back to normal, and now she knows..everything..she won't be too shocked. And if there's anything else there, it'll have to go through Monroe to get her, and he can handle himself.

"In the meantime, it might be worthwhile for me to go through the files for that district. Anything out of the ordinary could give me a clue."

Monroe, Juliette had decided, was more of a big old softie than a big bad wolf. He actually teared up at the sight of the mutilated dog. Nevertheless, he gritted his teeth and helped Juliette with the examination.

Snowy had been a magnificent sample of his breed, big, powerful animals bred to guard flocks against dangerous predators and larcenous humans in a harsh environment. Pyreneans are known to be highly protective of their family and very territorial. The unannounced arrival of a visitor in the garden would definitely have prompted Snowy to action, but it seemed he had more than met his match.

"Well," Juliette said, "whatever did this, it was no animal I've ever seen or heard of. Maybe a velociraptor, but we're a few million years late for one of those. What about you, Monroe?"

He shook his head. "Nothing fits." He told her. "I mean, the claw marks and the jump over the fence say _f__uchsteufelwild_. But those bites look more like _mauvais dentes_, and the broken back and ribs are telling me _lausenschlange._

"Apart from that, there's a scent. One I don't know, it's like nothing I've smelled before."

"Can you track it?" Juliette asked.

Monroe shrugged. "I could try, but should we? Whatever this is, I'm not sure I could handle it!"

"I don't mean follow it all the way, right now." Juliette explained. "But if we can get a line on where it might have come from, that'll help Nick. Besides, Nick said all the attacks happen at night, so we should be OK in daylight if we don't do anything stupid."

"And like, following this thing is smart?" Monroe grumbled.

Juliette flashed him a smile and headed out to the front. She was, she knew, being a little unfair, taking advantage. Monroe was a gentle soul, who naturally avoided trouble, but he would never abandon anyone he saw as part of his 'pack', or 'family', to be more polite.

In front of the house, two of the Neighbourhood Watch were waiting with a pickup. Juliette went up to one of them and said, "OK, you can take the dog, now. They're expecting it at the animal hospital, I'll need to do a full necropsy.

"My colleague and I are going to take a look around. He's a tracker, he might be able to follow this thing."

The Watch guy grinned down at her. He was a big, rawboned man wearing a USMC baseball cap over short-cropped hair. "Well, ma'am, if you find its' den, you be sure and tell us. We'll get a squad together and go take it out." He spoke with the quiet assurance of a veteran.

His friend, a thin, spidery, tough-looking fellow with kind eyes in a hard-bitten face, pointed over toward the woods.

"I'm bettin' he's somewhere in there." He said. "You need to be careful. I seen some damn big birds over them woods in the evenin'."

Juliette thanked them, then she and Monroe made their way around the back. Monroe was able to pick up the scent again. The trail led along a strip of empty land between the houses and several rows of small buildings.

"Do you know what those are?" Juliette asked Monroe.

"Some kinda business units." Monroe told her. "You can rent them out for whatever you want to do. They have auto-shops, electrical repairs, plumbers, custom furniture, interior decorators, even a micro-brewery. I was thinking of renting a unit myself if the clock repair business gets any bigger."

"What about the bigger ones over there?" She pointed.

Monroe squinted. "Those are mostly old warehouses and factories, all condemned. City'll get around to demolishing them one day. Probably build a mall there!"

"You can never have too many malls!" Juliette laughed.

As predicted, the trail ran into the woods. As it did, it became clearer, undergrowth had been beaten down or slashed out of the way, only the larger trees causing a momentary deviation.

"Whatever it is, it doesn't care about being tracked." Monroe noted uneasily.

"Unless it just wanted to get wherever it was going before sunup." Juliette suggested.

The woods got denser, well off any hiking or hunting trails. Then they found the first body.

"Geez!" Monroe said. "What is that?"

"You mean what was it." Juliette corrected him. "It's dead. I'm not sure I've seen anything _quite_ so dead!"

The thing had been about the size of a large dog, but seemed to have had six legs. What was left of the hide was composed of large, rough scales, an unpleasant green-black colour. The skull had been smashed in, but sported a long jaw full of curved fangs. The rest...

"Looks like a horse trampled it." Juliette remarked. "But it's also been bitten by something with a lot of long, sharp, teeth. Which is weird, because the only hoofed animals I know of are herbivores. You ever heard of a hoofed carnivore?"

"Nope, but that doesn't mean they don't exist." Monroe said flatly. "On or back?"

"On a little further." Juliette decided. "This is getting a lot weirder."

"And to think," Monroe grumbled, "that I moved to Portland because nothing ever happens here!"

The next body was hanging from a tree. It was about five feet long and skeletally thin, covered in coarse crimson fur. The remains of a pair of shredded, batlike wings indicated that it had been flying when attacked. The dog-like head sported not only a formidable set of jaws, but a pair of ivory horns. The cause of death was very apparent – the thing was impaled on a thick branch, clean through the chest.

"Attacked in the air, fell down and got speared by the branch." Juliette surmised. "That's odd. The damage on the wings looks like the bite-marks on the other dead animal.

"A hoofed predator that flies? What would that look like?"

"Kind of like the thing behind you." Monroe said quietly. "Turn round, but don't make any sudden moves."

It looked a lot like a horse, about the size of a Clydesdale, but almost skeletal. Jet black, with a long mane of the same colour and a narrow face that was somehow reptilian. The only sign of any other colour was in the eyes, which were blank, white and faintly luminous. It stood quietly in the trail, blocking their path onward, and seemed to be watching them.

"Keep still." Monroe said in a quiet, even voice. "I have an idea."

Slowly, keeping his hands in view and his eyes on the creature, he stepped toward it. At first, it didn't react. But as he came within a yard of it, it shifted. Wiry muscles slid and bunched under the sable hide as it half-spread a pair of huge, leathery wings from its shoulders. It tossed its head and snorted, showing a flash of gleaming white fangs for a moment.

Monroe took another step, and the creature came forward slowly to meet him. It stretched out its neck and butted its snout against his chest. Not hard -it could have knocked him flat had it wished to -just enough to stop him. Monroe stood his ground, and it butted him again, a gentle shove that sent him a step back. Another shove, another step back. Then the creature returned to its previous position, still blocking the trail.

"OK." Monroe said, still in the same calm tone. "OK."

He backed away a few more steps, then turned and came steadily back to Juliette. "Turn around," he told her, "and we walk away. Back the way we came. It doesn't want to hurt us, but it won't let us go any further."

Juliette did as she was told. "That isn't what killed Snowy." She said. "but it, or something like it killed those other things. What is it?"

"I don't know." Monroe told her honestly. _But,_ he thought, _I know someone who might_.

Nick checked files. He listened to the report Juliette phoned in, and looked at the photos she emailed to him. Then after lunch, he spent a couple of hours in the trailer. Finally, in the late afternoon, he met with Renard.

"We have a problem." He said without preamble, laying some files on his captains' desk. "Moreland told me that all this started with cats disappearing. Well, around about the same time, a couple units on an industrial park nearby were vandalized. By which I mean trashed. There's no connection between the businesses; one was an auto-shop, the other a bakery.

"Then, last week, a patrol spotted signs of a fire in one of the abandoned warehouses in that area. They had a look, found two bodies, badly burned. Now there was an investigation, but not much of one. That warehouse was a regular shelter for drifters and tramps, and what was left of the dead guys' gear pretty much confirmed that that was what they were. Report says that they must've been trying to tap some old storage tanks for kerosene to start a fire, and set themselves alight. Problem is, there's nothing left in those tanks but vapour, and the place the bodies were found was a good distance form the tanks. Also, why didn't the fire spread to the rest of the building? Lots of dry, flammable stuff there, but the fire was only around the bodies and the immediate area."

"And you're saying all this is linked, including the attack on the dog?" Renard asked.

Nick shrugged. "The timing tells me they're linked, so does the geography and, more importantly, so does my gut.

"But this isn't me thinking like a cop, I'm thinking like a Grimm. We both know that more goes on than anyone knows or will talk about. Then there's the other stuff..." He told Renard briefly about what Juliette and Monroe had found in the woods, including their encounter with the strange animal. The captain shook his head.

"That's beyond any weird I ever saw, and I've seen a lot! You're sure no _wesen_ are involved in this?"

Nick shook his head. "I can't be absolutely sure, but it seems unlikely. Look, the tramps in the warehouse, that could be a _damonfeuer_, except that it doesn't fit their behaviour pattern. One of the industrial units was smashed up physically, and that could've been done by a _siegbarste_. But the other unit had incredibly acid goo poured over everything. This stuff ate through metal – melted it like ice – but it evaporated as soon as sunlight hit it; the CSUs' couldn't get a sample. I don't know any _wesen_ that does that in quite that way.

"Whatever killed the dog doesn't match any known _wesen _either, any more than the flying horse-thing or the bodies Juliette found in the woods do. There's nothing in any of the books I have. Either they're all random unconnected incidents, which doesn't feel right, or a lot of rare, possibly undiscovered, _wesen_ are acting together, and that feels wrong as well."

Renard glanced through the glass panel of his office, then leaned forward and spoke quietly. "Have you thought about asking any of your _other_ friends? Your British friends?"

"Now what," Nick asked blandly, "would two Scotland Yard cops know about this?"

"Don't be coy, Nick." Renard said sharply. "I recognised Harry Potter and Ron Weasley as soon as they walked in here! I also knew you'd figure out who and what they were. My relatives have been trying to get a foothold in that world for centuries. They were on the point of doing it, too, until Potter killed the last of the Gaunts.

"I know they edited Hanks' memories, but not yours. You let things slip sometimes, Nick. Nobody else would notice, but I'm a _zauberbiest_, and we don't miss much.

"Now, you've asked the audience, and gone fifty-fifty: I think it might be time to phone a friend!"

Monroe had followed a similar line of reasoning to Renard, and as soon as he reached home, he made a call to the local office of the Federal Bureau of Sorcery. Special Agent Wednesday Addams sounded tired and harassed, but listened carefully to what he had to say.

"OK." She said. "The dead creatures I don't recognize, which worries me. The live one is what we call a thestral. They're just what they appear to be – winged, carnivorous horses. They're very elusive, quite rare and highly intelligent. They can only be seen by humans – and apparently _wesen_ – who've seen death.

"Wild thestrals avoid people as much as possible, though they can be trained. Wizards legend says an Ancient Greek Muggle named Bellerophon captured and trained one once, called it Pegasus, though some people say that was a hippogriff. There is one domesticated herd in the UK. But all the herds in North America, there are two large ones and maybe three smaller ones, are wild.

"You say this one seemed to be guarding an area of the woods? Odd. Because it's not their foaling season, which is when they guard territory rather than just moving on if people get close. They try not to hurt people, even when they're guarding foaling mares, but they will attack and kill animal predators."

"Do you have any idea about what may be going on here?" Monroe asked.

"None at all," Wednesday admitted. "And there's not much I can do, right now. We've had some intel that there's trouble in the Nevernever that might just spill over into our plane. We're on full alert and stretched pretty thin, I can't spare anyone right now. What I can and will do is get the word out to the local wizard community to be on the lookout and to let Rosalee know if anything weird happens.

"You guys be careful, and good luck!"

Juliette had invited Rosalee and Monroe over for dinner, to say thanks for their help during Nick's incapacity. Rosalee immediately offered to help out in the kitchen, allowing the two men to exchange information.

"So Renard knows about the whole wizard thing?" Monroe said. "I can't exactly say I'm surprised. Are you going to take his advice? Call Harry?"

"I may just have to." Nick agreed. "The fact that those thestral things seem to be part of the wizard world makes me think some kind of magic is involved, for one thing. For another, Harry told me he knows a lot of people, so maybe he knows somebody who can tell us more. We need some kind of handle on what's going on, and Harry would be a good place to start."

"You going to call him now?" Monroe asked.

Nick glanced at the clock and shook his head. "Nah. It's about 4 AM in London now, and he's got kids, remember. His wife wouldn't be pleased with me if I called now! I don't think Juliette would be too happy if another guys' wife turned me into a frog!"

"Would she, like, notice?" Monroe wondered.

The evening, despite Monroes' question, was an unqualified success. After bidding their friends goodbye, Nick helped Juliette stack the dishwasher.

"Right!" She said firmly. "I'm going to bed! You coming?"

"Just got one thing to do." Nick told her. "I won't be long."

"Better not be!" She said, then kissed him deeply and went off.

Nick went into his den and dialled the home number from the card Harry had given him a few months back. The phone rang for a moment or two, then a womans' voice answered.

"Potter residence, Ginny speaking. Hold on a moment...KREACHER, MAKE SURE THAT TOAST DOESN'T BURN! Sorry, who's calling?"

"Hi, Mrs Potter. My name's Nick Burkhardt, I worked with your husband a couple months back. I wondered if I could have a word with him?"

"Oh!" She said. "Of course! HARRY! TELEPHONE!"

Nick winced a little – Ginny Potter had exceptional lungs. Then she asked in a normal voice. "Nick? Nick from Portland, right? The Grimm?"

"That's me." He replied.

"Thought so when I heard your accent." She said. "So nice to talk to you, put a voice to the name. Here comes Harry now. I'd better get back to the kitchen. If the kids don't get fed soon, they'll start eating each other! Lovely talking to you."

He heard her say "It's Nick from Portland." Then Harrys' voice said:

"Hello, this is Harry Potter, wizard extraordinaire, defence against little old ladies a speciality!"

"You know about that?" Nick asked.

"Me and about half the world!" Harry laughed. "The video went viral on the Net! Seriously, though, how are you doing, mate?"

"Not so bad." Nick allowed. "Had a concussion and a broken ankle, but I'm almost back to normal now. If normal is a word people like us can use!"

"Depends," Harry said, "what's your given value of normal? But you didn't call me at half-seven in the morning just to catch up. How can I help?"

Nick outlined the situation as quickly and as clearly as he could. When he'd finished, there was a short silence, then Harry said crisply:

"You did right to call, Nick. This sounds as if it might turn into something nasty, but you're in on the ground floor as it were. If it can be nipped in the bud, it'll save a lot of trouble."

"You know what it is?" Nick asked eagerly.

"I can have a guess at what it might be." Harry told him. "But I'm not going to say anything for definite, because I could be miles out.

"Now look, I'm tied up on a case at the moment, and so's Ron. But I'm going to call someone who should be able to help. If it's what I think it is, he specialises in that kind of thing. If it isn't, well, he's still a useful bloke to have on your side. I'm going to call him when I get to work. He can travel pretty fast when he has to, so he should be with you late tomorrow - your tomorrow - OK?"

"Fine. "Nick said. "I can use all the help I can get. Who is this guy?"

Harry laughed. "It'd take a week to tell you, Nick, and even then you'd need to see it for yourself! His name's Dante."


	2. Chapter 2

**The Dark Cycle 1: Master of Beasts**

**Chapter Two**

It was around five in the morning when Nicks' cellphone rang. Renard was terse: "I know you're supposed to be on desk, Nick, but you need to see this." He gave an address on the edge of town and hung up.

"I _thought_," Juliette grumbled sleepily, "you were supposed to be on light duties?"

"So did I." Nick admitted. "But I think this might be linked to the case I'm working on. If I have to go straight back to the precinct, I'll call you."

She gave an unladylike grunt and rolled over. Nick grinned as he pulled on his clothes, Juliette was always a grouch if wakened unexpectedly.

The place Renard had called him to looked like a biker bar. One of those shack-like places on the edge of a town where the motorcycling fraternity gather to drink, swap lies and occasionally trade punches. This one was surrounded by black-and-whites, fire-trucks and paramedic units, and looked like a bomb had hit it.

At least half of the building was caved in, and what was still standing was smouldering. Police officers and fire-fighters were combing the wreckage for bodies and survivors, while paramedics and more police officers were bagging the dead and tending to the injured.

Renard had clearly been watching for Nick and came straight over. "Somebody called this in about thirty minutes ago." He said. "The story we're getting is that it was a bust-up between rival gangs, but I think that's a lie. Look around."

Nick looked. A number of the injured – nobody who'd been in the bar was unscathed, it seemed – were watching him with varying degrees of caution, relief and apprehension. Every time he caught somebody's eye, they _woged_.

"This is, or was, a _wesen_ place." He concluded.

Renard nodded. "Been here for years. I used to come here when I was younger, sometimes. Find out what you can, Nick."

Nick nodded assent, then asked. "Where's Hank?"

"At home in bed." Renard told him. "He has a flight to Baton Rouge in the morning. We have an extradition, and I sent him to get the prisoner. He'll be gone about three days, which is how long you have to clear this up if you want to avoid awkward questions."

"I'd better get started then." Nick said.

He made his way over to where a big man in his forties was sitting on his own, nursing a cup of coffee. He looked fairly banged-up, but not seriously injured. He looked up as Nick approached, and _woged_ again. A _taureus-armenta_, which was why Nick had decided to speak with him. The minotaur _wesen_ had a reputation for honesty, as well as toughness and courage. This one had a tattered armband that said 'Security' on it. As Nick sat down beside him, he said:

"You're the Grimm, right? I heard about you. They say you're a solid guy, which is weird. Didn't your kind used to hunt our kind?"

"Times have changed." Nick told him. "I'm a cop. I hunt bad guys, _wesen_ or not. Everyone else gets the 'serve and protect' bit."

The bull-man gave Nick a piercing look, then nodded. "Good enough. I'm Mike. Mike Grant. I am, or was, the doorman here."

"Detective Nick Burkhardt." Nick replied. "You want to tell me what happened here? What really happened?"

Mike shrugged. "You, I'll tell. Nobody else would believe me. Like I said, I'm the door guy. Mainly, my job is to check that only our people get in. Sometimes, things get kinda lively inside, then it's my job to make sure they take it out into the parking lot. Doesn't happen often, the guy who ran the place – he's dead – was a _lowen_, and everybody respected him, or was scared of him.

"Tonight was like any other night. People coming and going, playing pool, drinking, flirting with the girls. Then it came in through the back wall."

"it?" Nick asked.

Mike rubbed his face like a man trying to clean away a bad memory. "It." He said firmly. "I didn't get all that clear of a look, but what I saw was some kinda spider or scorpion the size of an SUV. Thing looked like it was made of rock, and it was red hot! It just smashed in through the wall and attacked everything in sight. I went in and got hit, just a glancing blow but it threw me clear out the door and across the parking lot! By the time I could see straight again, half the place was down and the rest was burning.

"Whatever it was had gone, and I didn't have time to go after it. People needed help, so I called 911 on my cell and did what I could until the first responders arrived.

"You got a pen and paper, Detective?" Nick handed over his notebook and pen. Mike scribbled a number down. "This is my cell number. You find out where this thing is, you give me a call. You're gonna need back-up."

"You think I can't handle it?" Nick asked, half-joking. Mike sighed and rubbed his face again

"Look, this place isn't for _eisbiber_ or _seelenguter_. Our crowd were _blutbaden_, _coyotl_, _lowen_, we even had a _balam_. Nobody who comes here is the kind who goes down easy. This – thing - killed a dozen of us and banged others up real hard. You're not gonna take it down on your own, Nick.

"Now, the people here, they had families, friends, who're gonna want payback. Then there's you, Nick. You may not know it, but word's gotten around about you. The Grimm who treats us fair, who helps out, who takes care of our people when they need it, who takes down the bad ones and who leaves us alone unless we do something stupid. Most of us respect you, and if you need help, you got it, OK?

"This is no little old lady you're up against, Detective!"

Nick gave a rueful grimace. "I'm not gonna live that one down, am I?"

"Not in a million years!" Mike informed him with a chuckle, then said seriously. "But I mean what I say. You find that thing, you call me!"

They shook hands and Nick went in search of Renard, who he found just finishing up with the leaders of the firefighters and paramedics. He quickly reported what Mike had told him. Renard whistled.

"This is way beyond anything we've ever come across before." He allowed. "Did Mr Potter come up with anything?"

Nick shrugged. "He said he had an idea, but wasn't willing to commit himself on the information I had. But he told me he'd contact a friend of his who specialises in this kind of thing. I'm expecting him later today."

"Good." Renard said. "I think we're going to need all the help we can get. Take the day Nick. There's nothing you can do at the precinct that would be useful, but I know you have other sources. Find out everything you can, and let me know if I can help, OK?"

When he reached home, Nick noticed two things. Lights were on in the house, indicating that Juliette was up and about, and a large black SUV was parked a little way down the street. As he locked the car, two figures got out of the SUV and came over.

One he recognised, an attractive, dark-haired woman in a business suit. The other was a tall thin man, fit-looking, in his late fifties or early sixties, wearing jogging clothes.

"Special Agent Addams." Nick greeted the woman.

"Detective Burkhardt." She replied. They shook hands warmly. "Good to see you, Nick." Wednesday said. "I expect Monroe told you about our talk, and why the FBS can't officially assist right now. But this is Elmer Samuels, and he may be able to.

"Elmer is a retired Auror, head of the local Wizard Watch scheme and President of the Portland Wizard Duelling Club. He and his people are already keeping a look out, and they're willing to back you up if there's trouble."

Elmer put out a wiry hand, which Nick shook. Then he handed over a folder he'd been holding.

"We've had one or two weird things happen in our community." He said. "Not as serious as the stuff you've heard about, but still kinda hinky. Then somebody saw Thestrals over the woods, and that got folk talking. A lot of people still think Thestrals are a bad omen.

"So when Ms Addams here asked me to help out, I was happy to do it.

"Ms Addams tells me you've worked with Harry Potter, Detective. Is he as good as they say he is?"

Nick shrugged. "I can't answer for his magic skills, I'm no wizard. But he's one heck of a good cop!"

Elmer nodded. "Well, my cell number is in that folder, along with reports on some of the stuff that's happened, so call me if you need us. I'd best get home now."

"You sure you don't want to wait?" Wednesday asked. Elmer shook his head.

"It's about as far as my usual morning run, and a change of route will be nice. So long!" With that, he took off down the road in an easy, distance-devouring, lope.

"Hope I'm still in that good shape at his age." Nick remarked, then. "I take it there's something else you want to talk about?"

Wednesday nodded. "A couple things, really. Firstly, we think it's better all round if we bring Juliette up to speed on the wizard thing. She already knows about you and the _wesen_, so it shouldn't be too much for her to take in. Secondly, I've come across some wizard history that might be useful."

"Right!" Nick steeled himself. "Let's go talk to Juliette!"

The house was filled with a delicious aroma of fresh coffee and warm bread.

"That you, Nick?" Juliette called from the kitchen. "Bud stopped by with some croissants. I told him he shouldn't, but he said his wife always makes more than...Oh!"

She had emerged from the kitchen, and now stopped short, realising that Nick was not alone.

"_Eisbibers_ are big on food." Nick told her. "You should see the buffets they put on at Lodge meetings!

"Juliette, this is Special agent Wednesday Addams, from the..." he hesitated, then decided to bite the bullet, "from the Federal Bureau of Sorcery. We need to talk."

"And I," Wednesday looked meaningfully toward the kitchen, "missed breakfast this morning!"

Juliette took the revelation well, all things considered. She listened carefully to what Wednesday had to say, glancing occasionally at Nick for confirmation, and let her coffee and croissants get cold. Then she said simply; "Looks like I can handle more weird than I thought!" She looked quizzically at Wednesday. "You don't..._change_..into anything, do you?"

Wednesday shook her head. "I'm not an Animagus – a witch or wizard who can turn into an animal – if that's what you mean. I can use Polyjuice Potion to make myself look like somebody else, but that's a painful process and the stuff usually tastes disgusting."

It was, Nick thought afterwards, as much Wednesdays' prosaic manner as anything else that convinced Juliette. He'd noticed that about wizards -to them, magic was just...ordinary. Juliette had a couple more questions, then allowed that she had some thinking to do, but it could wait until after her shift at the clinic. She gulped down her coffee and bread, grabbed her things, kissed Nick goodbye and went.

When she was gone, Nick said to Wednesday: "So what's this history you wanted to talk about?"

"Well," she said slowly, "when I say 'history', this is closer to legend. There's an old, old story among wizards that Thestrals didn't originate on this plane. Now, that's not unusual, a lot of magical creatures – Centaurs, Hippogriffs, certain kinds of Vampire – don't originally come from here, either. But those kinds all came from what we call the Nevernever, which is sort of a combination of what Muggle myths call the Astral Plane and the Land of Faerie.

"But Thestrals are different. The story goes that they were specially bred in Limbo, the Realm of Balance, by the Nephilim and sent here by the Charred Council to guard against incursions by minor demons from the Realm of Chaos. According to legend, minor portals into both Chaos and Law can occur spontaneously. When one opens between here and Chaos, wild animals from that Realm can come through and cause problems for Humans. The Thestrals are there to hunt them down before they do."

"Right." Nick grimaced. "That sort of makes sense. What happens when wild animals from Law come through?"

"It's the Realm of Law, Nick." She replied patiently. "There _are_ no wild animals there. They aren't allowed."

"Should have known!" Nick grinned, then said. "Who are these Nephilim, anyway?"

"The people who live in Limbo." Wednesday told him. "I don't have time to explain, but I got this book for you. Give it a read, it might clear things up a bit."

After she left. Nick settled down with the book. It was clearly very old, but in pristine condition, bound in fine leather, and with pages of parchment, rather than paper. The text was hand-written, in an odd Gothic-looking script, and the pages were beautifully illuminated with bright patterns and tiny pictures. On the flyleaf was a shorter text which announced the following:

_Thys Boke, being a True Copye of the Work of_

_Rowena Ravenclaw_

_Was finished this 4__th__ Day of Septembre, yr 1422_

_by me, Aristophanes Dumbeldor_

_ye Illuminations by Hand of_

_Letitia Luvgoode_

The archaic English would have puzzled Nick if he hadn't been used to the often eccentric styles of his ancestors, whose diaries and journals formed most of the contents of his trailer.

The book was an account of the various Realms, or dimensions, which the author claimed to be contiguous with Earth, and from which people and creatures occasionally travelled with various purposes, or by accident. There was the Realm of Faerie, which Wednesday had called the Nevernever and was home to many creatures of myth and legend. The Realm of Chaos ("ye wych Muggels do y-clepe Hell") was a place of magic, and the site of a constant war between three factions – the Empire of Mundus, the Kingdom of Lucifer and the City of the Old Ones, Kadath in the Cold Waste. The Realm of Law, or Heaven, on the other hand, seemed to be a technologically-advanced, hierarchical society ruled by Metatron, the Voice of Law. Then there was Limbo, the Realm of Balance, home of the Grey Lords and their ruling body, the Charred Council.

It seemed that Law and Chaos were always at war with each other, and that at some time in the far past, that war had spilled over onto Earth. Eventually, things had got so bad that the Charred Council had intervened and confined both forces to their own Realms, forbidding them access to Earth unless summoned by Humans. But an unforeseen result had been that several thousand Angels and Demons had been trapped in Limbo. The Charred Council had given them some territory and left them alone to manage their own affairs. At first, they had fought, but since neither the Angels' advanced weaponry nor the Demons' magic would work in Limbo, that had proved pointless. Eventually, the inevitable happened and the communities intermingled to the extent that a few centuries later they had become the Nephilim, a hybrid of Demon and Angel. Thereafter, they had become full citizens of the Realm of Balance, serving the Grey Lords and subject to the Charred Council.

There was also an account of the Thestrals which confirmed, in greater detail, what Wednesday had told him. That part worried Nick, because the book stated that any beast that found its way through such a portal accidentally would be no match for the guarding Thestrals. Yet somehow, several creatures had clearly avoided them and caused trouble in Portland on this occasion. Which meant that either they'd got completely the wrong idea, and the Thestrals were here for another reason, or the portal was bigger and more dangerous than they thought.

Juliette came back around noon, full of questions, not many of which Nick was able to answer. So instead he told her the full story of the case he'd worked with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, pursuing the insane witch-turned-Grimm Dolores Umbridge. He told her about the things he'd seen Harry and Ron do, and how Wednesday had disguised herself as Juliette and been held hostage by Umbridge in this very kitchen while Juliette slept upstairs. Then he told her about the book, and what he'd found out about the things that were happening. After that, they called Monroe and Rosalee, who came over, and Nick had to explain things again, telling everyone about what had happened at the clubhouse.

Then there was a firm knock at the door. Nick went to answer it and found himself facing a stranger. The man was big, easily the size of Monroe. He wore a long red duster over some kind of tunic, camouflage pants and heavy boots, and was carrying what looked like a golf bag. His hair was long and pure white, but his strong-boned features put him at no more than forty. The steady gaze he bent on Nick came from eyes so pale a grey as to be almost colourless.

"Detective Nick Burkhardt?" He asked. "Harry Potter asked me to come over. My name's Dante."

Just then, Nick became aware of a chiming sound. Glancing around, he saw his wallet, which he'd dumped on the hall table as he came in, was vibrating and was the source of the chime. At the same time, Dante was feeling around in his coat, finally producing a rather battered-looking wallet that was behaving in the same manner. Both men looked into their wallets, producing identical laminated business cards which stopped chiming as soon as they touched them.

"Well," Dante said, "I guess that proves we're both on the level. Harry only gives these out to people he trusts."

"Good enough for me!" Nick allowed. "Any friend of Harrys'. Come on in."

Dante was introduced around and given coffee, then got down to business.

"Right." He said. "Just to get this out of the way, I'll tell you what I do. I'm a freelance demon-hunter. Now, normally, people have trouble with that, but since I'm sitting with a Grimm, a _blutbad_ and a _fuchsbau_, I can take it that nobodys' gonna freak out at it."

"You can tell what we are just by looking at us?" Rosalee asked.

Dante laughed. "No. I kinda cheated there. Harry told me about you all when he called. I mean, I knew about Grimms and _wesen_ and all that stuff before, but I never met any. I never mentioned it to Harry before because it never came up."

"So, just to be clear." Monroe asked. "Are you a freelance who hunts demons, or do you hunt freelance demons?"

Dante gave him a droll look. "A little of both." He said. "I'm a freelance, most of the time, just to pay the bills. Demons are all pretty much freelances by nature. They're creatures of Chaos, so they don't care for rules and are only out for themselves."

"Oh, like politicians then." Monroe replied, making everyone laugh.

They went on to brief Dante in on everything that had happened and what they'd managed to find out. Then the ladies went to get dinner, and the men went for a stroll in the gathering dusk.

Dante sniffed the air. "There's Chaos here all right." He announced. "I can smell it!"

As Nick looked at him, there was a kind of shimmer. Not a _woge_, but like one. For a second he saw Dante, not as a _wesen_, but as something not remotely Human. Nick glanced at Monroe, but his friend had clearly noticed nothing and had gone a few paces ahead, sniffing the air.

Dante leaned closer and spoke in a low voice. "Most of the time, I look like Mom, but sometimes Dads' side shows up. It's a long story."

"Maybe another time." Nick said, then Monroe rejoined them.

"I don't know about Chaos." He told them. "But something isn't right!"

"We need to get into those woods tonight.." Dante said firmly. "You can find the way, Monroe?"

"I could do it blindfolded." Monroe replied grimly.

"We can start after dinner." Nick decided.

"Not you, Nick." Dante shook his head and pointed to the cane Nick was still using. "It's gonna get nasty in there, and you're not fit for a fight yet. You up for this, Monroe?"

"After what I just scented, you bet!" Nick had never seen his _blutbad_ friend so determined. "But the moon's full, I'll be at my most dangerous."

"Good, I need you dangerous." Dante growled. "Got any weapons?"

"I hate guns." Monroe told him.

Nick fished in a pocket and came up with a key which he tossed to Monroe. "Get something from the trailer." He said. "It's on your way."

Monroe nodded, then sniffed the air again. "Now I smell dinner!" He announced, and set off briskly towards the house.

Nick held back a moment with Dante.

"If Monroe doesn't come back in one piece," he told the demon-hunter tightly, "I'm gonna be pissed."

"I hear you." Dante replied. "But this isn't a safe job, Nick. I may not come back, either."

Monroe parked the Beetle as close to the woods as the road let him. Dante gave a mock groan as he climbed out. "I have shoes bigger than this car!" He complained.

"I saw that movie, too." Monroe told him. He reached back into the car and took out the chain-mace he'd chosen from Nicks' stock of antique weapons. The weight was reassuring.

Dante had managed to extract his golf bag from the back seat, and now crouched over it, unzipping it. First out was a double-rig, fast-draw gunbelt which he slung across his hips under the duster, Wild West style. However, the weapons he then slid into the holsters were not Colt .45 Peacemakers, but a pair of large automatics, similar to Desert Eagles; one was pure white, the other jet black. Finally, Dante produced a massive two-handed broadsword, which he slung across his back. There was a slight metallic clink as the blade touched the back of his coat -then it stuck there. In answer to Monroes' look, he said:

"I got a couple big magnets sewn into the lining back there. They hold Rebellion on and keep her out of my way until I need her. Lead on, MacDuff!"

"It's _lay_ on." Monroe grumbled. "If you're gonna quote, quote right!"

Nonetheless, he led Dante to where he and Juliette had entered the woods the previous morning. Both hunters sniffed the air. Something was definitely wrong, but there was nothing dangerous or immediate. They moved quietly, alert but not yet cautious. Monroe could feel the full moon calling to his blood. He usually stayed home on nights like this, for fear of falling into the old ways. Tonight, though, the old ways were needed.

"So," he said in a quiet tone that, unlike a whisper, wouldn't carry, "how'd you meet Harry?"

"We both got roped into a special job a while back." Dante told him. "I'd heard of him before – I get a lot of work from wizards, so I know what goes on in that world – but hadn't met him. We hit it off right away. I never met a guy so much on the level.

"You and Nick helped him get Umbridge, right?"

"Yeah, him and Ron." Monroe confirmed. "Ron's a stand-up guy, too."

"That he is." Dante agreed. "I didn't meet him and Hermione until later, when I visited Harry at home. His wife's the same, as well."

"You met Harry's wife?" Monroe was intrigued. "What's she like?"

"Ginny?" Dante grinned. "She's Rons' sister. Pocket Venus with a mane of red hair and a lot of attitude! She suits Harry down to the ground!"

Just then, the scents got stronger, and both men stopped talking. Now they went quick and quiet, senses stretched. Now they were past the point at which the Thestral had stopped Monroe the day before, and began to see an odd, blue glow through the trees ahead. It wasn't the blue-white, dazzling glow you see in UFO movies. This was steady, deep blue light that seemed to come from the ground itself.

Then the first attack came, two dark, thin shadows out of the trees toward them, moving fast. Dante swung his sword across in a platinum blur, slicing one in half. Monroe _woged_ on the spot, jinking to one side and catching the thing by its long tail as it shot past. He swung round, hanging onto the tail, and there was an unpleasant crunching splat as the creatures' head crashed into a tree-trunk. Without a word, they moved on, into a clearing where the blue light had its source.

It came from a crater in the centre of the clearing. A crater that reminded both men of a running sore. The raised lips of earth around it looked green-black, rotted. From the crater, veins of the blue light snaked across the ground and up into some of the trees. There was nothing else in the clearing apart from a manlike figure standing at the far edge of the crater.

It was inhumanly tall and thin, wearing an elaborate costume of the same blue as the light that glowed from the crater. The face that looked down at them was long, with a pointed chin, high cheekbones and slanted eyes that were pits of blackness, the whole was crowned with a mass of black hair. It spoke in an insinuating tenor that sent shivers down Monroes' spine.

"Dante, son of Sparda, scion of the traitor. Did you know that your father still runs free across the Realm? That he and his forces interfere in battles that do not concern them? That they fight for the _weak_? I think I shall send him your head as a token of my regard."

"You'll have to take it first." Dante replied. "I don't think you've got what it takes to do that, pal. But if that's a challenge, you need to tell me who you are."

"Oh, no challenge." The demon replied. "I do not challenge. That would involve fighting you myself, and that is beneath my dignity.

"But if you will know, son of Sparda, I am Yrkoon, Beast-Master to His Majesty, King Lucifer. You will have heard of me."

"I haven't." Dante said crushingly. "But I do know your boss, and if he knew you were here, he'd be nailing your sorry ass to the wall about now."

"I wish you luck in informing him." Yrkoon smirked. "But my King can punish only if he knows, and he will not punish success. Already I have sown fear. But a little more, and this portal will gape wide, allowing my King and his forces access to this little world, and through it, to the Realm of Law. And all without once breaking the accursed Seals!"

"So that's it." Dante said. "Clever! Who put you up to it Yrkoon? You don't have the brains to figure all that out yourself. Most of the beasts you sweep up dung for are brighter than you."

Yrkoons' face contorted with rage. He called out several phrases in an odd, vowel-heavy language. The blue light in the crater intensified and two creatures suddenly erupted from it.

"Take them, my pets!" Yrkoon shrilled.

The one that came for Monroe wasn't unfamiliar, he had seen the dead body of another like it. The size and shape of a large dog – a very large dog – with a scaly skin, six powerful legs and a head that was mostly jaws and teeth. It bounded toward him, jaws agape, and leapt for his throat. But as it did so, he swung the chain-mace across. The heavy, spiked steel ball smacked into the things' side. Monroe heard bones crack and the creature gave a hissing scream as the spikes tore away flesh and skin. It fell away to one side and rolled, coming up on its feet and tensing for another spring. But _blutbaden_ are fast, and Monroe wasn't giving it a chance. With two long strides he was over the demon, bringing the mace down to crush its skull in a shower of black blood and red brains.

Dante was facing an apelike being covered in green fur and having long tentacles instead of arms. He both hated and pitied such creatures, twisted and warped by Chaos and the dark powers of Demon-Lords. The beast reached for him with its tentacles, attempting to draw him into to the fanged maw that gaped in its chest rather than its head. But the Hell-forged steel of Rebellion sliced through the sinewy tentacles as if they were cotton. Dante thrust his blade into the maw and split the thing in two.

Yrkoon was chanting again, and the light from the pit had intensified until it was almost black.

"Shit!" Dante yelled. "Time to go, dude!"

Monroe needed no second bidding. His wolf-blood might have been up, but the image of Rosalees' face was always in his mind. They ran. Neither of them needed much in the way of light, and the full moon through the trees, along with Monroes' power of scent and Dantes' more eldritch senses, kept them on the trail they needed. But the sound of pursuit grew louder.

As they came out into a glade, it was clear that they needed to make a stand, if only to slow their pursuers. Halting in the centre by common consent, they turned at bay. Monroe shook out his chain-mace and began to swing it in slow circles. Dante drew his pistols. And the creatures came.

There were dozens, perhaps hundreds. Three-foot long centipedes with mad red eyes and terrible hooked mandibles that could slice off a mans' arm. Chittering things the size of cats, covered in needle-sharp ivory spikes. Two-headed dogs that drooled venom.

Dante began to fire syncopated volleys into the mob. Every shot hit, and what he hit, died. The charge stopped for a moment, but only a moment, then the things came on. Slowly, but inexorably. Dante's face was set; Ebony and ivory would not tun out of ammunition, but he couldn't take out enough of the demons quickly enough to prevent the tide reaching himself and Monroe. He didn't fear for his own life -even this horde was not enough to kill him, and he had ways of escape if he needed them.

But Monroe was a different matter. _Blutbaden_ do not go down easily, but under enough punishment, they will go down. Dante needed Monroe to go, while he covered the rear. But it would not be easy to persuade him. A wolf will not willingly desert the pack. Dante was about to make the attempt, when another element entered the battle.

The air was suddenly full of the sound of great wings, as a dozen or more Thestrals swooped into the glade, landing in the middle of the horde and wreaking terrible havoc with hoof and fang. The demonic creatures, until now mindlessly aggressive, seemed to have an instinctive fear of the Thestrals, and tried to flee. Few if any succeeded.

It was over in a few bloody, frantic moments. The Thestrals milled around, seeming to inspect each other for wounds. Then one stepped toward Dante and Monroe. It was larger than the others, and held itself with unconquerable pride. Dante guessed that this was the stallion. The Thestral nodded to them once, then snorted as if to signal, and the herd took to the air as one.

"Well," said Monroe after a moment, "that was...different."

Dantes' estimation of Monroe, and of Harry Potters' judgement, went up a couple of notches.

"Kind of old home week for me." He allowed. "But we learned, or I did, a lot tonight. C'mon, we'd better get back. We've done all we can for now. But things are gonna get really hairy soon!"

"Oh, joy." Was Monroes' reply.


End file.
